Her face is still glowering as he gets up and walks to where she is seated. A hush ripples through the guests.
He mock bows. “May I have this dance, milady?”
She takes his proffered hand and gets up, clearly unnerved.
“You are going to embarrass me, aren’t you?” she hisses.
“Why do you always think the worst of me? Just follow my lead, and you’ll be all right.”
“Your lead?”
“Yes. Didn’t you know? I took ballroom dancing lessons when I was in juvie.”
“You were in juvie?” she says, aghast.
“No, but it’s a good story.”
They take to the dance floor amidst claps, whistles and cheers. Brian spies the cunning look on Lori’s pert features. On Sammie baby, you’ve got one helluva bitch for a sister. And in that instant, both pity and resolve strengthen his spine.
“Put your hand on my shoulder,” he says.
She obeys, and he lifts her other hand.
“Now when my left leg moves forward, your right leg moves back. And vice versa. And then you move forward, and I move back.”
“OK.”
He begins to lead her. One step forward, one step back. She treads on his toes.
“It’s OK,” he whispers. “Smile and look radiant. No one will notice if your footwork isn’t perfect.”
She treads on his toes a couple more times. He smiles at her encouragingly.
“You’re getting there,” he whispers.
The look of surprise in her eyes suggests that she had no idea that he could actually be nice. He winces internally. Hey, I’m not that bad. I just don’t want people to know it.
By the second stanza, she has gotten the hang of the dance steps. It’s time to introduce more fancy moves.
“When I tell you to pirouette, you pirouette.”
The tightening of her hand on his shoulder indicates that she is nervous.
“Don’t worry. You’re doing fine. Don’t think about getting every move perfect. Let yourself flow into the music. Relax.”
With that, she visibly relaxes and actually looks as though she’s enjoying herself. He smiles at her.
“Now pirouette,” he murmurs.
She takes her hand off his shoulder and makes several rotations before coming back to him. Their audience applauds.
By the third stanza, both of them are laughing and completely in tune with the music. He leans over and dips her head back, and she flexes her shoulders gracefully. It’s like magic.
“Those Zumba classes really paid off,” he teases.
“You actually remembered.”
“I have an elephantine memory . . . when I remember to use it.”
She smiles, and he can see the fire in her eyes. They match each other move for move. They are both far from technically perfect, but their passion and enjoyment is contagious, and more than once, he hears whoops from their audience.
She catches on so fast that he finds himself wondering about her in bed. He can well imagine teaching her a few new sexual tricks and having her master them . . . on him . . . in a matter of minutes. His c**k grows hard again at the thought. He inwardly groans. She’s having some wild effect on him, and if he doesn’t watch out, he’ll find himself f**king her. Or trying to, seeing as she would probably club him on the side of the head before he can get beyond first base.
He wonders how much of why he is so attracted to her is because she doesn’t want to have anything to do with him sexually. Once he has had her, would he continue to find her so engaging?
The song winds down to a finish.
“Now put on a show and kiss me,” he says.
She does not hesitate. Their mouths clash in a desire-soaked tangle of moving lips and tongue. Her hands creep around his neck and draw him to her forcefully. He falls onto her aggressively, be damned with who is watching. He explores her mouth, swirls his tongue around and across it, tastes her sweetness and the red wine that still clings to her mouth.
He scarcely hears the applause that has broken out amongst their audience until they come up for air. Her face is flushed, her hair is disheveled, but her eyes are misted over with an emotion he can’t quite decipher. There’s a softness brimming in them that calls to mind candlelight dinners and red, red roses the texture of velvet.
An unbearable lightness buoys his stomach.
No. You mustn’t. You don’t believe in relationships, remember?
He steels himself and tears his eyes away from hers before he can fall into them. There’s a tightness in his throat that makes it hard to draw breath.
His gaze closes in on Lori’s face – as black as a raincloud.
He murmurs, “Uh oh, I think we’ve stolen the thunder from the bride.”
10
After saying goodnight to Cassie and Caleb, they trip back to their room at three in the morning, a little drunk.
She’s giggling, trying not to get her heels twisted around one another. He’s laughing. His skin is flushed and he’s obviously high on alcohol.
She inserts their old-fashioned key in the lock. He leans against the corridor wall and lights a cigarette.
“Why do you that?” she asks. “Smoking is so bad for you.”
He inhales deeply and lets out a cloud of smoke. “And here I thought we were getting along so well together.”
“It’s just a comment.”
“They’re just my lungs,” he deadpans.
She pushes open the door, suddenly self-conscious. They are alone again. In a room with a bed.
He strides in and stubs the cigarette in an ashtray on the table. He starts tearing off his clothes in a completely oblivious way, not even looking at her as he throws his jacket, shirt, silk scarf and belt on the bed. He wrenches off his shoes and socks.
She clears her throat.
“Excuse me, but I think we should discuss our sleeping arrangements.”
He turns to face her. He is dangerously handsome. His pants are unzipped and his thatch of pubic hair sprouts from his crotch.
He says, “It’s easy. There’s nothing to discuss. I’ll take the bed and you’ll take the couch.”
“There isn’t any couch.”
“Tough. Then you’ll just have to share a bed with me.”
Even though his words carry a seductive languor, his demeanor towards her is not sexual. He is merely undressing himself as he would any other day in his apartment when he’s alone. Before she can say anything, he drops his pants. His penis is semi-hard. He flashes her a grin as he turns to walk towards the bathroom. He has a deeply sexual swagger to him.